Perspectives
by Smol.Cake
Summary: Eagle Strike. But this time, from Yassen's perspective. One-shot. Hints of Yassen/Alex, Yassen/John.


**A/N: Kay guys. A little of AU here to those who've read Russian Roulette. Yassen did not find out that John was a spy for MI6. And we currently don't have a copy of Eagle Strike, so some details may be kind of inaccurate. We'll re-edit it once we get our hands on Eagle Strike. All good? **

**This was co-written with my friend, Faith.**

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><p><span><strong>Perspectives<strong>

**"I don't kill children"**

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><p>The bullet hit Yassen in the chest, spinning him away from the door.<p>

"I'm sorry Mr Gregorovich, but you're fired."

Then Cray trained his gun on Alex.

"You're next," he said.

And fired a second time.

Yassen could only watch as the force of Cray's bullet throw Alex off his feet and back across the cabin. He saw Cray aiming at Alex's heart, and he hadn't missed. It was nearly impossible to miss when he was shooting point blank at the teenage spy. The boy crashed to the ground, and lay still. And Yassen's heart seemed to crash along with it, shattering into pieces. An intense hatred formed within him towards the insane pop singer, and he wished he could kill Cray.

In fact he could. His gun had skittered across the floor of the cabin, and he began to crawl, slowly towards it. Sabina had tried to attack the crazed multimillionaire, but was flung against the door.

He would kill Cray, for all he had done. He didn't deserve to live.

Then Alex stood up. Yassen drew a sharp breath in surprise and relief that the boy was still alive. His jersey was bulletproof.

_Lucky Alex_, Yassen thought.

The boy seized Cray's arm from behind and engaged him in a fight. The assassin stopped moving. He would have to save his energy to talk to Alex after Cray is immobilised, unconscious, or even better, _dead. _The blood spread across the Russian's shirt, blossoming like a red flower of death.

_And of hope, maybe_, the assassin thought to himself. The strange thing was, Yassen didn't regret giving his life for Alex. If in any other situation, he would've gladly done so. He loved Alex in a way he didn't understand, that extended beyond his and John Rider's friendship.

His whole body throbbed with pain and he shivered. It seemed unfair that he was to die like this, knowing that he would never meet his parents, Leo, or even Hunter in heaven.

If there was an afterlife.

He would be sentenced to hell, maybe, for all the sins he had done. Eternal punishment. Maybe someone would take pity on him and his life, and allow him to re-join those who he knew in Heaven.

Then the cabin door flew open, accompanied by lots of yelling, and then a loud bang.

A flare of ugly, white-orange light. A sea which Yasha Gregorovich knew well. He escaped from it before, but even so, all that was left of him was an empty, hollow shell of his own past.

It was as if Yasha Gregorovich had died within the fire itself, and all that was left of him were ashes, swirling, scattered around, and slowly dissipating, and he knew that before long, he would be gone.

Everything seemed to turn upside down; was he finally dead? Yassen was thrown violently into a table leg and cried out, inaudibly, in pain.

_No, he wasn't dead. _

But no one would help him. He was a wanted man, a public enemy. The police would have wanted to take him down. Scorpia would then replace him with Nile; he was getting to old for the job, after all. Besides, he was a disappointment. Better off dead. But there was one more thing he had to do.

"Alex…"

The boy turned his head slowly. Warily. Would he come over?

"Please…" the Russian pleaded softly. _Come to me, _Sasha_, please. _Alex crawled through the wreckage and over to him. "What happened to Cray?"

"He went off his trolley," Alex replied.

"He's dead?"

"Very."

Yassen nodded, pleased. "I knew it was a mistake working for him," he said. "I know."

_As if you took any action. You just wanted to retire in peace, you bastard, _the Russian scolded himself. He fought for his breath, narrowing his eyes for a moment.

"There is something I have to tell you, Alex," he said, using every ounce of his energy to speak properly. He couldn't slur his words. He had to get the message across. To Alex. He had to know. And every second was precious. Time was ticking, for him, and he didn't know when his heart would decide to give up. Yassen had worked out this for many years, after John Rider was shot. _After Eagle strike, _he reasoned with himself as he walked out of Damian Cray's bedroom. He just didn't expect it would've been like this. So he condensed it. "I couldn't kill you," he began weakly, but enough for Alex to hear. "I would never have killed you. Because you see Alex… I knew your father."

The boy shivered, but clearly, Yassen knew it wasn't from the cold. It was the surprise, the hope, and the shock. "What?"

"Your father. He and I…" Yassen had to pause to catch his breath. It was harder to breathe, by the seconds. It was as if someone had smothered a pillow across his face, and was slowly applying pressure to it. "We worked together." _For a short while, at least. _

"He worked with you?"

"Yes."

"You mean… he was a spy?"

"Not a spy, no, Alex. He was a killer. Like me. He was the very best. The best in the world. I knew him when I was nineteen. He taught me many things…" _I loved and respected him very much, Alex. And you too. If only you knew how much…_

And as he completed his sentence, Yassen could see disbelief on the boy's face, desperation, anxiety, and finally flat refusal flood out of Alex's eyes. _The boy, he does not believe the truth._

"No!"

The sirens were getting nearer. The first of the vehicles must have arrived. The assassin was dimly aware of some shouting. He was running out of time. Fast.

"I don't believe you," Alex cried. "My father wasn't a killer. He couldn't have been!"

More desperation. The boy was a drowning man clutching at unknown straws right now. _It's all true, Alex. Go ask that Mrs Jones of yours. Or Alan Blunt. You've done so much for them. Maybe it's time for them to tell you something as well. _He had so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the strength to say all those.

"I'm telling the truth. You have to know." _You have to know, Alex. He taught me many things. I am, in a way indebted to him. He saved my life not once in the Amazon forest, but many times, with the skills he had taught me. _

"Did he work for MI6?"

"No." _I never knew, but I was sure he never. The willingness he showed. It couldn't have been forced. _

"MI6 hunted him down. They killed him. They tried to kill both of us. At the last minute. I escaped, but he…" Yassen bit back the tears, not willing to show weakness at this point. "They killed your father, Alex."

There. It was all out. He could see the disbelief on Alex's face, the pain, and the betrayal. _Everyone he knew seemed to suffer._

"No!" Alex's voice was ragged, full of pain.

"Why would I lie to you?" Yassen reached out weakly and took Alex arm. It was the first physical contact the two ever had. _And the last. _Alex's skin was smooth and warm – and tired. It was as if Alex was leeching the life out of the Russian, at the rate fatigue and pain were overwhelming him.

"Your father… he did this." The assassin drew a finger along the scar on his neck, but his voice was failing him, and he couldn't, despite the fact that he really wanted to. "He saved my life. In a way, I loved him. I love you too, Alex. You are so very much like him. I'm glad you're here with me now."

Yassen was surprised when he realised that he wasn't lying. His whole life had been built on lies upon lies, and it was deception that kept him alive all these while. He looked up at Alex, taking in the boy's beautifully crafted features one last time.

_Never to be seen again. _

The boy looked so much like his father, so much. How similar was he to his father. Yassen was hit by a sharp pang of pain, adding to the excruciating pain in his chest. He knew it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't feel anything. His heart throbbed faster, working overtime as it prepared to end its duty. There was one last thing he had to say.

"If you don't believe me, go to Venice. Find Scorpia. And you will find your destiny…"

The assassin could see John and his wife standing nearby, smiling at him, along with a group of people. His mother, his father, Leo, and even that old, wrinkly grandmother of his standing together, beckoning him to follow them. And maybe he should. He was tired of all these.

Maybe it was time to be Yasha Gregorovich once again.

Yassen closed his eyes, his hand squeezing Alex's arm, then falling limp. His heart shuddered one last time.

And he died.

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><p><strong>Drop a review, some con crit (or a lot), flames, anything. It's optional, don't worry. We do really want to know what your views on this are. After all, this is our first fic for the AR fandom, and we can say, it's really different from the ones we've been writing. Yup. Though I am the better writer. See all those thoughts? I wrote them. *Faith throws a book at me and yells: Narcissistic!* Right. Anything. I do not care. But yeah. She was the one who came up with the first draft… Um… right. <strong>


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